August 15, 2006

August 13, 2006

Everything in the glass cases was unfamiliar to me. I saw a Colombian woman ahead of me buying 6 of these so I thought they must be good. I pointed and asked for one. “Esto?” she asked, holding one up. Yes, I said, feeling very conspicuous. I was the only white-bread girl here, the only “foreigner” in this shop. I paid my 60 cents and I don’t know what it’s called but it’s perfect with coffee in the morning. It’s a sweet bread with chocolate sugar formed in thick rows on top. It’s like nothing I’ve ever had before. I’m used to American bakeries (and European ones as well) which are filled with elaborate eye-catching treats that call out “choose me, I’m so pretty!” But at a Colombian Bakery it’s different. Everything looks like a plain roll, nothing is dancing before you with puffs of cream or flecks of gold. Well, there was a cheesecake in the corner and a tray of something that looked like chocolate chip cookies, but even they were different. It’s one of the things I love about this neighborhood–I am pretty much the foreigner here.